


Shattered Reflection

by henghost



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: F/F, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 01:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20770175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henghost/pseuds/henghost
Summary: Lisa finds incriminating evidence in Victoria's medicine cabinet and feels an obligation to protect her.





	Shattered Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> This is way darker than I originally intended, so... fair warning.

“I’m really not in the mood at the moment,” said Victoria.

“That’s never stopped me before,” said Lisa.

“I’m exhausted and sick and grieving. I don’t even know why you’re here.”

“We need to get a jump on the whole Heartbroken thing.”

“Oh Jesus — I don’t have time to even think about that right now.”

“Here I was thinking you had a strong will. Maybe that was Glory-Hole, maybe Antares doesn’t.”

“I hate you.”

“Aw, you don’t mean that. Anyway, if you’re not getting out of bed…”

“No —  _ ach  _ — no, I am. Just give me a second. There’s some cold medicine in the bathroom.”

“...”

“...And could you get it for me?”

“Where’s your little helper?”

“Kenzie? She’s at the Wardens HQ, I think.”

“You don’t  _ know _ ?”

“Listen, you absolutely do not have the right to come into my apartment and judge me. Absolutely not.”

“A right? Victoria, I don’t know if you’ve been paying any attention during all these years we’ve known each other, but I don’t exactly have a very strong sense of what is ‘right’.”

“Will you just get me the fucking cold medicine?”

“Yes, princess,” said Lisa, and she located the bathroom without searching. The myriad creams and topics were lined up like soldiers on the granite counter, and she could see her reflection in the tile floor.

How much of all this belonged to the late “Swansong”?

From what she’d been told from those present at the raid, Lisa could say definitively it was a stupid way to go out. To exchange control for power was a net loss, and only an idiot wouldn’t be able to see that. Control  _ is  _ power. And knowledge is control. Still, it was a shame it made Victoria all weepy. 

Before opening the medicine cabinet, Lisa stared into the mirror. She looked tired — she could see behind the mask. Too much loss. She allowed herself to savor this small moment. Cabinets were a simple pleasure: one needed only to open a door to make known what was hidden. 

She pulled the mirror back, and she went to a different world. Her breath shortened and she could feel her pupils dilate and the blood vessels all throughout her stomach and legs contract and squeeze and little polka-dots of sweat break out across her entire body.

Besides the DayQuil, there were only two items in the cabinet: a bottle of pills labeled “Zolpidem” and a tall bottle of Smirnoff.

She was back in that room where the smell of vomit clung to her nose like nettles; where hazy, incongruous sunlight poured onto the horror show. The room of tears and sickness and death. Of ignorance.

She sat on the edge of the bathtub and tried to get a handle on her breathing and her thoughts, which were spiralling like water down a drain. 

“What’s a Thinker power good for if you can’t find some fucking aspirin?” called Victoria. 

“Just a minute!”

Here came the intellectualization:

“Zolpidem” was another name for Ambien, which was a common sleep-aid that was known for causing anterograde amnesia. Smirnoff was a vodka brand owned by a now defunct British company, though it began in Russia.

There were plenty of uses for these items that were healthy and safe and not worthy of further thought. Medicine, recreation, etc.

Or, even if they had been intended for something less-than-healthy, the issue might be moot now that Swansong was dead. There was no reason to think that Victoria even knew about what was behind the spotless mirror. 

An image came unbidden into her mind: her brother’s cold, pale face replaced by Victoria’s, complete with long blonde hair. She smashed her head against the cold ceramic of the shower.  
“Did you slip and fall, Tattletale?” said Victoria as she walked into the bathroom.

They made eye contact, then Victoria caught her reflection in the swinging cabinet door. “Fuck,” she said. “Okay, I see that you’ve already gotten the wrong idea.”

“Wrong idea?” said Lisa.

“Those aren’t mine.”

She was lying. “You’re lying.”

“No no no, I’m not. Your power’s confused or something. Something about conflict — I don’t know. But you’re wrong. They’re not mine.”

More lies. “I’m not wrong. I can see your intentions like words on a page, Victoria, you fucking moron.”

“Look, I can see this is a touchy subject. But you have to believe me. Something’s gone wrong with your power. I don’t even drink.”

“I’m thinking you bought them or found them for the express purpose of offing yourself, you stupid fucking cunt.”

“Tattletale, calm down. I’m telling you, you’re misinformed. Calm down.”

Lisa stood and put her face within inches of Victoria’s. “What is it? Couldn’t bear the dreams anymore? Because they’re not nightmares, are they? Of  _ her _ ?”

“You’re way out of line.”

“Couldn’t take the guilt anymore? The  _ desire _ ? So you decided to take the coward’s way out. You fucking selfish bitch. You know, I used to have pity for you. But you’re not even worthy of that. Because it’s not only that you deserved what happened to you, it’s that you wanted it.”

Victoria sighed, her shoulders fell, and she walked out of the bathroom. The door slammed behind her without her touching it. 

Lisa looked into the cabinet and withdrew the vodka. The liquid was the same crystal color of the bottle, and she could see her face within its confines. She hurled it into the bathtub, where it exploded into a plume of bitter-smelling glass.

#

Hours later, the scene hadn’t changed. Lisa stared at the glass in the bathtub. Fallen leaves in a white forest. 

She’d always fantasized, in the intervening years, what it had been like for her brother at the very end. Was he calm? Did he experience a kind of grim acceptance? Probably he’d been terrified — he’d shit himself, after all.

Death was Lisa’s only fear. Not the idea of an unending sleep or an afterlife. No, it was the confrontation with the unknown that was self-defecation-level scary. And to willingly subject oneself to that was stupidity at its most dangerous.

Victoria was supposed to be smart.

When she yelled at Victoria, it was like someone — something — else had been speaking through her. She didn’t mean those things. She had respect for Victoria, even if she didn’t always like her. “Something about conflict.”

But the question remained: would Victoria, the moment Lisa returned to her clusterfuck of a life, drown herself in those bright white pills? The image of sibling-Victoria returned, and the glass in the bathtub glittered in her periphery, and she decided it was better to be safe than sorry.

There was a knock on the door.

“Tattletale? Do you want to talk?”

“‘Want’ might not be the right word.”

“Can we?”

“Fine.”

They sat facing each other, cross-legged, on Victoria’s bed.

“Listen,” said Lisa. “I’m… sorry.”

“Wow — I honestly didn’t expect that.”

“I didn’t mean what I said. I was angry. Being mean is my coping mechanism.”

Victoria sighed. “I also wasn’t being a hundred percent truthful. You were right about those things being mine. The lithium’s from Ashley’s — Swansong’s — old stash, and I got the alcohol after we got back from Teacher’s. I was… I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Were you gonna go through with it?”

“How would I know?”

“That’s fair.”

“It’s just, I feel like I’ve lost all control. There’s nothing tethering me to this place anymore. This planet. Any planet. And I’m so angry all the time, and I’m sick of it, Tattletale. It’s like acid corroding me from the inside, and I just wanted it to stop, and I wasn’t thinking straight, and my friends are dropping like fucking flies, so what’s one more, right?”

“I’m glad you told me.”

“Really?”

“I can’t stand not knowing… Um, can I tell you something?”

“What?”

“I mean, I know it’s kind of gauche to talk about ‘trigger events’, but I guess I consider us somewhere between friends and colleagues, which is more than I can say for most of the people I interact with, and it feels, I don’t know, pertinent.”

“Your trigger?”

“Yeah. It was my brother. He killed himself, and I mean, I guess it’s kind of a cliche, but you would never have guessed. Popular guy at school, everyone looked up to him. The favorite child. That’s when I triggered. So it’s not an excuse, but I think that’s why I got so pissed at you.”

“It’s not an excuse.”

“I know. And if you want me to fuck off forever, I understand. But I just wanted to say: I’m… here for you.”

Victoria raised her eyebrows. “Here for me?”

“Like, if there’s anything I can do.”

“Listen, Tattletale, I appreciate it. I guess. But those were some pretty fucking unforgivable things you said. You said I  _ wanted  _ to be raped.”

“Uh, raped?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb. You can’t pull it off.”

“Honestly, Victoria, I didn’t know. The way my power works — it tells me, you know, the sore spots, but it’s hazy on the details. I mean, Jesus. I had no idea.”

“Bullshit.”

“I swear to God, Victoria. I would’ve never…”

“More bullshit. First of all, you absolutely would’ve. Second, you practically guaranteed it would happen.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It was you, Tattletale. It was always you. You set her on the path, and I know you didn’t do it intentionally, but if you’d died a long time ago, years of torture could’ve been avoided.”

“Here I was trying to bury the hatchet.”

“Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness. I felt bad, is why I was even willing to talk to you. And you had to push things. It’s going to take a lot of therapy before I bury a hatchet anywhere but your fucking skull.”

“Okay, Jesus, I get it. But I still feel like I can’t let you out of my sight.”

“Whatever. I need to rest.”

Lisa stepped off the bed and went to sit in the armchair in the corner of the room. She fell asleep watching Victoria doze.

#

There was nothing at first except an overwhelming pleasure, which felt more than simply physical. There was a heat between her legs, and the slimy flickering of a tongue. She moaned.

She screamed when she looked down. It was her brother with his head crushed between her thighs. Then, as quick as the realization was made, the face changed. Taylor, now, her mask in her hands, her glasses nowhere to be found. Lisa closed her eyes to savor the sensation.

When she opened them, Taylor had been replaced by Victoria, whose golden hair was spread across her legs and stomach.

She woke up and noticed dampness around her crotch. She sighed — one didn’t need a Thinker power to interpret that one.

Victoria was still asleep, but she was thrashing around and grunting and making incomprehensible noises. Had her jab about dreams been on the money after all? There was something lonely about dreaming in the same room but different beds. 

For the first time in years, Lisa found herself remembering Carlie from seventh grade, who everyone had called slut. Not because she was promiscuous, or even that she’d had sex. But her father touched her, and verbal outlash was the only way a twelve-year-old could wrap their head around something like that. 

Once, Lisa had found Carlie outside the school, curled up on the red brick of the courtyard, weeping. For a long time, she thought about consoling her, or at least saying something. But she walked on. The summer before high school started, Carlie slit her wrists in a bathtub. 

Victoria groaned and grunted and tossed and turned. Lisa was again finding it difficult to breathe. It suddenly seemed very likely that something awful would happen to Victoria — that she might stop breathing or have an aneurysm or choke on a random explosion of vomit.

Lisa stood up and crept over to the writhing Victoria. She knelt until they were at eye level and put the back of her hand against Victoria’s cheek. As lightly as she could, she brought her lips to the tip of Victoria’s nose. Her thrashing seemed to slow.

She walked around to the other side of the bed. Her power told her which floorboards might creak and how to place her feet to keep silent. She slipped onto the bed and wiggled until she was within reach of Victoria, whose hip stood up like an island in the ocean of blankets.

Victoria flipped to face Lisa. Her eyes were still closed. Each hot breath hit Lisa’s nose, and although the morning was still on it, Lisa wanted to keep that scent in her nostrils forever.

When she went to move closer, Victoria opened her eyes and screamed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she said.

“Oh, um, nothing,” said Lisa. “Sorry.”

“Get the fuck out of my bed.”

“Right, yes, absolutely.” She stood up and backed away.

“What were you doing?”

“It looked like you were, uh, having a nightmare. And so I thought I might—”

“That you would sleep with me?”

“Comfort you.”

“After what I just told you?”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty. Look, I know you hate me, but I can’t help but worry about you. And I want to help you and be here for you.”

“Whether you had noble intentions doesn’t matter, Tattletale. You’re acting like a piece of shit. I don’t know why you’re still here.”

“I can’t leave you alone, Victoria. I really can’t. I can’t take the chance. If you were to do something… irrevocable, that would be it. That would be the final straw. And I can’t take it anymore,” — she felt warm tears falling down her cheeks — “Everyone I’ve ever loved, it’s been, and at some point I have to start to wonder what the common thread is. I have to wonder if it’s me. And I can’t stay alone because I’m so fucking selfish and the loneliness is like ice in my blood and I can’t live like that. I really can’t. I can’t leave you alone.”

“Have you considered that it’s  _ because  _ you can’t leave people alone that they leave you?”

Lisa sobbed, just once, then went into the bathroom, grabbed the bottle of pills, smashed the mirror with her fist, and pulled a shard from its center. Then she left.

#

Victoria dialled Kenzie. She picked up before the first ring. 

“Hey, do you have any kind of surveillance on Tattletale? I won’t be mad — it’s urgent.”

“Like, right now? No, no cameras or anything. I could tell you her internet history if you want.”

“How long do you think it’d take you to find her?”

“Ten minutes, maybe. Why?”

“Can you do that? Right now?”

“Why, what’s going on?”   


“Please, Kenzie.”

“Fine.”

Victoria felt something icy in her chest. It would be easy to open the window and fly out, and she could find her before Kenzie. Before she could do anything rash. But something was stopping her. 

The dream from before was fading, but images still swam through her head. It was another of Amy, of course, with lots of close-ups. So when she opened her eyes and found one soft, feminine face replaced by another, well, it left a bad taste. “The final straw.”   


And there was a comfort in the not knowing. Tattletale was fine until proven otherwise. Those (regrettable) words were nothing but words. Everyone was still okay, and if she didn’t care much about finding the answers, they always would be.

She strolled through the bathroom, where the smell of alcohol hadn’t gone away, and looked in the mirror. The shattered reflection with a piece missing felt appropriate. A missing piece. That was what she needed. She needed that black spot which knew nothing.

The glass in the bathtub called to her like a siren, but before she could grab a piece, her phone buzzed in her pocket. Caller ID said Kenzie. She declined it.


End file.
